Acquittal
by playingmakebelieve
Summary: Death felt like silk. Cool, flawless silk. It enveloped her and she found herself swimming. Her hands treaded water, tangling in the waves. They searched for something to hold on to, to pull her out of this delusion. timetravelfic
1. Fate Shat On Me

A/N: I'm going to be writing this with weekly updates most likely. I'm trying to teach myself structure…which probably won't work. Me and schedules are like a malfoy and a mudblood. Also, I know we have jillions of time travel fics out there, but (if this goes according to plan) there will be twists in every chapter, a building romance, and a fun tidbit whether it be poll or fact. I don't own Harry Potter, but I'd give an arm and a leg for Tom Angsty Riddle. Maybe two of each. Um what else? I know apparition is prohibited in Hogwarts. Hermione is allowed because Hogwarts' wards recognize her as a member of the Order. I personally love Bellatrix, from her style to her cackle, but it had to be done.

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><p>May 2nd, 1998<p>

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><p>The air reeked of burning buildings and charred flesh. Even underground, the scent permeated through, creating a dense cloak to breathe in. Hermione Granger hid in the One-Eyed Witch Passage which led to the Honeydukes' cellar.<p>

She waved a frail hand and with a flick, her broken fingers began to slowly pop back into place. The skin was still broken and she was still in immense pain. It would have to do though. She just needed a good wand hand to fight. She wasn't a coward.

She ignored her other wounds, like the gaping hole on the back of shoulder blade, knowing that time wasted was jeopardizing lives. She gathered her wits and wiped the stinging tears, mingled with sweat and blood, from her eyes.

Crawling on all fours to keep herself hidden from view through the glass display window, she snuck out. She could see Fiendfyre illuminating the darkness of Hogsmeade's cobblestoned streets. It flickered and danced, taunting her with its simplicity. It was a way of saying war is black and white, you kill or get killed trying to kill.

Hermione swallowed bile back after accidentally bumping a stand of blood lollies and pressing into her shoulder's gash.

She exited the store, and ran along the shadowed alleyways of Hogsmeade. It was eerily devoid of calamity and the crackling of fire feasting was all that was heard. Hermione sprinted faster, spitting out a mouthful of blood. She could hear the distant rumbling of thunder as the magic clashed in the atmosphere.

Dark and light churned and the atoms sizzled and sparked, floating upwards to the black clouds above like reversed rainfall. Hermione could barely see through the thick veil of droplets, yet she welcomed it, for it eased her overheated, overwhelmed body.

A flash of green flew pass her head. She felt the heat of the killing curse scrape against her cheek. It left a burning sensation that she didn't even have the time to associate with decaying skin. Her head had whipped around so fast she saw two Lestranges. Hermione's mind, within a millisecond, spewed disarming spells. Bellatrix skillfully dodged them, weaving her way closer. Hermione continued to scream curses and so did the deranged Death Eater.

Hermione's brilliant mind, which had earlier vanished, sparked with an idea. Her eyes left Bellatrix's dilated pupils and looked directly behind her. Hermione gulped down the vomit that clogged her throat and forced a harsh nod. The death eater's eyes widened for a second and she looked back, fearing she was cornered. She saw air. Fury raged in her veins as she turned back to the filthy mudblood trash in front of her.

Only to face a wand, a smirk, and a silent Expulso.

Hermione ran off, never looking back. If she had, she would have seen Bellatrix Lestrange, stripped of her disgusting beauty by an artless exploding charm. She would have seen skin stuck to bone, ash piled on ash.

And she would have smiled. Laughed. Cried.

Wasted time.

She moved on, gliding southbound to Hogwarts. She ran as fast as she could; her lungs bursting with searing pain, her shoulder prickling from every jostling step. She kept going. She could see Hogwarts in the distance.

Rain had begun to pour harder, weighing down her sore muscles. It beat on her ragged body, trying to break her. She refused to give up.

Suddenly, she felt a piercing stab through her back. She looked down and saw a hole where her stomach should have been. The rim was bloodied and scorched.

She fell forward, and her body gave involuntary twitches. At one particularly violent jerk, she vomited and her head fell limp in the puddle of her bile.

She could hear footsteps as someone ran up to her. She heard the sound of hacking, and felt the glob of spit run down the back of her neck.

'Filth', the person sneered before clambering off into the distance. She felt so numb, like she'd been petrified all over again. Hermione struggled to lift her head and say goodbye to Hogwarts. _Her home._ She mustered up the little energy she had left, poured every ounce of magical being she had, and disapparated.

With an echoing 'pop', she apparated into the office of Minerva McGonagall.

Dumbledore's portrait looked horrorstruck at the image before him. The brightest witch of the age lay dying at his feet. The portrait murmured consoling words, softly wrapping her in a shroud of comfort.

She could barely breathe. Each puff felt like daggers and she could feel herself teeter in and out of consciousness. Her eyes were slowly turning glassy as her vision was blurred.

She could vaguely make out a silvery figure being peeled out of Dumbledore's portrait. The ethereal old man bent down, cradling the dying girl in his lap. Tears wet his translucent beard. "Ms. Granger…." Her head lopped to the side, cocked without effort.

"Hate is the absense of love," he whispered, smoothing away the hair from her face. Dumbledore's ghost lay in a bloody heap cradling the world's last and only hope.

**That was the last thing she heard before she died.**


	2. Hunk Of Man

A/N: I am quite aware it sounds like….stroking a very male appendage, but I meant for it to be as subconsciously clingy as possible. I have no idea what the story name is, but I was reading an opinion article on Casey Anthony and it was about her acquittal. The title won't stay very long, because the plot changes depending on my mood. On a bad day, I want to kill 70% of my characters off. On a good one, 90%. Not really. But speaking of which, did you ever make a SIMs family just to kill them off? My favorite way was filling a door-less room with adjacent fireplaces. I'm very excited about the Knights of Walpurgis. I hope later on to delve into the minds of the first followers. No one chooses to be a slave. Even as glorious as Tom can make it seem. Am I rambling? My report cards in elementary school always said I was too chatty. I guess I should stop now.

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><p>Death felt like silk. Cool, flawless silk. It enveloped her and she found herself swimming. Her hands treaded water, tangling in the waves. They searched for something to hold on to, to pull her out of this delusion. She felt something warm, a vivid contrast from the cool smoothness.<p>

Her fingers ran along it, savoring the heat and texture. They ran up and down, almost in a kneading fashion. In actuality, Hermione was trying to find a grip, a bump of some sort. She needed to be saved.

A groan cut through her delicious nightmare. It was a deep, chilling baritone sound. She heard it echo in her head, bouncing off the chambers of her mind. Her hands moved faster, trying to find a way out of oblivion.

A humming murmur was the response. Her fingers went from caressing to clawing, she was so terrified. The sounds had been increasing and growing louder. A force sprung through her, and her eyes flew open. She jolted up, staring into charcoal eyes.

She was panting for air, filling her lungs with sustenance it was previously denied. Hermione's head whipped around, taking in the very male figure seated next to her.

In bed with silk sheets.

She gaped at the defined bare chest and the boy whom they belonged to. He looked close to her age, in the teens, with snowy skin and lovely black ice shards for eyes. His hair was equally dark, and stuck up in all directions. His pale pink lips were pressed in a fine line as he stared at her.

No, he glared at her.

"H…h-hi?" Hermione began to wonder where it is her brain decides to wonder off in time of need. She licked her chapped lips and stuck a shaking hand out. Manners first, she was taught.

"What is the _meaning_ of_ this_?" The boy asked her. His voice was monotone and forced. He stared at her hand until she withdrew it and hid it under the blanket.

"To a degree or extent indicated or to identify a specific…." her words faded as she noted the boy getting angrier. Harry would have laughed. She gulped and started to get up.

As she began to withdraw from the covers, her eyes widened when she realized she was _nude_. Panic was beginning to seep into her brain.

She glanced at the side table, just a book. Her heart rate picked up speed.

She lifted the covers. Empty. Her palms were doused in perspiration.

Raised the pillow. Nothing. Her stomach began to churn with fear.

Where was her wand?

The boy seemed to realize her predicament and blinked. He reached over to the book and pulled out a wand he'd been using as a makeshift bookmark. His wand was pointed against her throat. Hermione struggled not to shudder. He transfigured the pillow Hermione was clutching with a death grip into a long shirt.

"Incarcerous", he hissed out from a clenched jaw.

The brunette found herself bound by large ropes. One managed to slither around her neck, squeezing until she screamed, only to gag her open mouth. The boy stared at the helpless girl and decided to take her to the headmaster. He didn't need any more 'suspicious activities' around him, whether it was or wasn't his doing. He got up and threw on his school robes, and headed to the bedroom door.

"Aren't you coming, darling?" he jeered, staring at Hermione. He found himself wanting to laugh at her pathetic situation as he admired his handiwork. His charming voice sickened her and she spat furious words at him, which were muffled by the tightening of the binds.

He levitated her behind him, dragging her through the air. They went through winding corridors and up from the dungeon bowels. His pace was brisk, with purpose, and Hermione found herself with little time to fabricate a story.

She had no idea where she was or who this boy was, but she knew what danger was when she saw it.

**And this boy was no saint.**


	3. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore

A/N: So fate has, much like the first chapter's title, shat on me. I have been graced with not only the flu, but a stomach virus. Every single time I so much as sneeze, my bowels quiver in the worst way. Life is so fun. I haven't left the house in about three days. I wonder if it's hazardous to my health, not mental-that's already been shot. I was you-tubing Tom Riddle in the Chamber and his jawbone just kills me. I love Draco when he cries more though. Gods, I'd pay him to cry for me. But I'm broke so…..I'll settle with the poor substitute of my fantasy. I'd be there to comfort him, run my fingers through his flaxen locks, and melt into the embrace of what could never be. Fact: As soon as Dumbledore waltz in, I sneezed on my laptop and snot smeared the keys. Fun.

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><p>Hermione Jane Granger stared at Armando Dippet. He was a proud looking man, with a large presence. Or was it his ego? He was draped in indigo velvets with embroidered bronze thread, and had snow white hair curtaining his face, eerily similar to Snape's, as he lazily wrote at his desk. The boy who brought her to the headmaster's office sat beside her, drumming his fingers on his lap noiselessly. She was still bound and gagged, but it gave her time to craftily weave a lie and take in her surroundings. She was still reeling over the fact that she had just died and somehow landed in this parallel universe of sorts, unharmed.<p>

Dippet meant that it was the forties, so Hermione wracked her brain for all the Hogwarts A History information she'd ever ingested. Dippet was outwardly distrusting, exception being Voldemort, and somewhat absentminded when it came t-except voldemort. Except Tom Riddle.

Hermione was sitting in a room with Tom Riddle. She realized the heaviness of the situation and her stomach hit her toes. She recalled the sleepless nights at the burrow with Ginny, a blubbering mess, in her arms. She knew what he was capable of, what he'd done and would do. She remembered the basilisks yellow eyes flickering to grey in the mirror, the apathetic grey of Tom Riddle's eyes. Harry's frantic, weary ramblings, recounting the Chamber of Secrets skirmish.

Headmaster Dippet raised his head to look at the pair. His fondest student had come to him, clearly distraught, with…a captive.

"Tom, what is the matter? Who is this girl and why is she bound?" Hermione watched Voldemort struggle to hide his defiant posture by relaxing his rigid backbone into a slouch. Charlatan.

"Sir, this-this-I woke to up to find her naked in my bed clawing into my skin. She was trying to, dare I say, molest me!" Hermione found that the world not imploding upon the joining of those words in that order to be an outrage. She was suddenly glad the rope stopped her from scoffing.

With a wave of Dippet's over-jeweled hand, the ropes shriveled and fell to the floor as dust. It vaguely registered in her mind that she wished Tom had been the one holding her hostage so it would have been him.

"Explain yourself miss…." Hermione mentally searched her mind for every pureblood line she could think of.

A slow smile pulled at her lips as she remembered Umbridge's claim to fame. "Selwyn. Hermione Selwyn." She hoped to Merlin that the line wasn't thriving in this time and purposefully reclined in the seat in a Malfoy manner, the Pureblood way. Tom's chin twitched and Hermione knew it was from grinding his teeth like Ron did when he was angry.

"Right, why were you-." He was cut off by a youthful Albus Dumbledore sashaying into the room. Dippet smiled in a relieved way and acknowledged his confidante. Hermione was shocked, and secretly appalled, as she watched Dumbledore bend to kiss Dippet's family ring in respect before turning to them. That seemed like something a Death Eater follower would do. She snuck a glance at Tom and saw his tongue slither out to wet his lip instinctively. That's probably where he got the idea. Snake Bastard.

"Ms Selwyn," Dumbledore murmured softly, "I gather by your attire or lack of, that you attempted to apparate into Hogwarts? Did your father not inform you of our wards?" He gave her a teasing tut and waved his hand. "No matter, I will see to it our new transfer has gathered the appropriate materials before classes start."

Hermione could see the confusion on Dippet's face, the one he masked by tiredly rubbing his wrinkled face. "Of course. I'm a very busy man indeed. Thank you, Albus," he muttered and dismissed them silently. Hermione could feel Tom Riddle's anger in waves, rolling off and scalding her. Dumbledore led the pair away filling the mute void with his nonsensical chatter. Hermione heard the words 'splice' and 'Hogsmeade' being mumbled. The two teenagers had yet to say a word as they were led to the Head dorms.

Tom Riddle finally broke the silence when they reached the door; it seemed he could not quell the burning curiosity. "Who exactly is she, sir?" The charm he possessed brought a weak smile to the transfiguration professor's face. Hermione opened her mouth to answer but Dumbledore cut her off. "Miss Selwyn is a former student of Durmstrang, but under…." He paused and Hermione noted that Tom leaned closer, "Certain circumstances, she has been forced to transfer schools."

Dumbledore ran a hand through his beard, smoothing it of nonexistent knots. Hermione continued to stand in the corridor as she watched the exchange. It seemed that Dumbledore was baiting Riddle, drawing him in using his thirst for knowledge.

"Sir, if I may ask, what sort of circumstances?" It was presumptuous indeed, but the lithe of Riddle's voice made it seem innocent. Hermione's throat tightened when he glanced her way, with those penetration grey eyes. Even she was caught in the web. Dumbledore quieted for a second; Tom watched the old man contemplate. Hermione knew if she'd been ill-informed, she would have also been as hungry as Tom. She knew she would have digested those lies Dumbledore fed him so elegantly. But she knew that looks could be deceiving, as was this boy who lay in lamb's skin. Dumbledore ran his hand down his thick beard again, coiling the wisps at the end around his finger. Then he glanced at her in what seemed like a questioning way.

Hermione decided to play his game. The greatest wizard alive knew a thing or two about Voldemort. She nodded with a tight smile in what seemed like a way to unwillingly grant permission. She knew it would look like Dumbledore put her on the spot to flaunt her shortcomings, much like Tom Riddle felt he did.

"Miss Selwyn will be a splendid addition to Hogwarts. It is man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways. Hogwarts is a safe place to nurture a mind such as hers." And with that, he turned and strode away.

Tom's eyebrows were still knit together and even Hermione had no idea what to make of that statement. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek, thinking up a story to go with it. It seemed Dumbledore left her hanging. Hermione Granger knew what the Headmaster was doing. She sidestepped Riddle and entered the portrait. She knew exactly what he was doing.

Like she said before, she would play his game.


	4. Flaunt

A/N: My dog (Mister Optimus Prime Choa) ate my chapstick and threw up on my bed just now. It's frothy. I'm going to explain why I write all this pointless crap that I doubt anyone reads. I always find that in author's notes, you learn to connect to the writer more. Personally, it helps remind me that there's someone putting in sheer effort (to the point of pathetic obsession) to crank out entertainment, and a spectacular form of escapism, for ME. It makes my toes curl- I feel so special. Snort. Seriously though, I just want you guys to know that I enjoy feedback and I aim to better my writing with opinions and suggestions. I'm also willing to make shout outs or if you want a special word thrown into the chapter etc. Anyyyyways, I've got to hurry. I made a 25 (yes, out of 100) on a math quiz (and that was my teacher being generous) and the test for it is tomorrow. Hurray for failure! Fact: I bought a batch of cookie dough from my neighbor (with a mentally handicapped son) for twenty bloody dollars when I could have gone to Walmart and paid three. I better go to heaven.

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><p>The Battle of Olpae is real. Who can guess what war it was in? Google is for cheaters.<p>

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><p>Hermione had walked inside to find the room changed. It was no longer the dark lair she'd woke up in, but a spacious lackluster room with two large doors on either side. She saw that there were little wads of paper littering the cement floor. Tom brushed past her making the hairs on her neck stand.<p>

He swore in a hiss, cursing Dumbledore's existence, before bending to pick up a ball of parchment. She could make out the curvature of his backbone as his robes tightened when he bent. Huh, the Dark Lord had a spine after all- and here she was, thinking he hid behind his Death Eater lackeys. She mentally snickered. With a flick of his wand, it turned stretched and bubbled, transforming into a couch.

Oh. Hermione wanted to smack herself. Of course! Dumbledore must have left the décor up to them, with a witty twist in his specialty. She smiled; despite being stuck with an extremist murderer, despite being before her time, he could always make her feel at ease. She trailed past Tom again, enjoying brushing him aside, to stand in the middle of the room. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She wanted to give him a little preview-hook him.

Exhale. It hurt her chest to expel that much air. Inhale. She felt it, the brief tingle of energy. She exhaled; rid herself of everything around her. It was just Hermione Granger and her magical spirit. The tingle bubbled in her belly as she continued to breathe softly. It swelled and hummed. Her eyelids slid open the slightest. She could see the blur of Tom Riddle, watching her from across the room. She could see white blobs swaying in the air, pulsating to her magical heartbeat. The tingling felt like an uncomfortable pressure now. It was like something was sitting on every inch of her skin, heaviness.

Her eyes shot open as the parchment wads pitched in all directions. Tom Riddle ducked for cover behind his transfigured couch. Hermione wanted to laugh at the sheer outrage and shock on his face, but remained in a trance. It felt like her body weighed a ton. The magic seeped from her, escaping into the scattered scraps, as she redirected her essence. Her body felt tingly-no, she was trembling.

Hermione grit her teeth and casually walked to the door furthest from where Tom was. Well, as casual one can get, knowing they've drained themselves to the point of suicidal. And whatever for? Hermione was ashamed to admit it, but she wanted to show off, to put that megalomaniac in his place.

When she glanced back, Tom was looking around at the room in disgust mingled with a smidgen of awe. The room was furnished with gothic forms of heavy proportions, dark finish, elaborately detailed carvings. There was a large Victorian chandelier with golden nymph goddesses dancing around each flame and rich green velvet tapestries covering the stone walls of historical wonders from the Battle of Olpae to the Goblin Wars. All-in-all, Hermione deserved a pat on the back. She pressed her hand against the door and her handprint started to glow. Hermione let out an audible sigh of relief. At least she'd be able to sleep at night now that her ward recognized its owner. She slipped into the room once the door cracked.

Another quick glance back showed Tom Riddle snapping his wand in anger. Hermione Granger, Selwyn now, had just transfigured an entire room and created arithmantic wards that could cage hell if she wanted….

**Wandlessly and Nonverbally.**


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